The note, it all started with that note. The note that said that I was Mr. Quinlan’s substitute for the day. “Why me? Why did it have to be me?” I ask myself. Three more periods, just three more periods. Right now I’m outside watching seventh grade kids run around like maniacs, starting to not like them, and wishing that I was at home. Wow, I’m even starting to sound like Mr. Quinlan. “Now I understand why he buries his head into crossword puzzles half of the day, ” I tell myself. At least one thing has gone wrong every period. First period it was the chair missing a wheel, second period a kid stole half of Mr. Quinlan’s candy, and last period was just really bad. So what happened last period you may ask? Even if you’re not asking that, I’ll
